


Of Colours Not Found in Nature

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-08
Updated: 2005-07-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley reminisces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Colours Not Found in Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

NOTES: Gen fic. Set AtS S3. Between 'Waiting in the Wings' and 'Couplet'. 

**Of Colours Not Found in Nature**

“Yes, I will. Yes, Mum. Goodbye.”

He set the receiver down gently and eyed the measure of Glenfiddich he’d poured in honour of the event. It was _his_ favourite; a traditional Highland malt, and even though Wesley would much rather be downing a decent Islay, he made the concession to this particular day. 

He sighed and pushed his chair back, lifting the glass from the desk and bringing it with him. He’d decided to ring from home; not really feeling up to the well-intentioned meddling of his co-workers. Not that they’d have noticed, though. Gunn and Fred seemed to be joined at the lip since the ballet, and with Cordelia’s unexpected reacquaintance with royalty, Angel was spending some quality Dad time with Connor. 

He sighed again, and opened the cupboard door. He really shouldn’t do this. It was like poking at a loose tooth, you knew you ought to leave it alone, but still you kept working at it, pushing and pressing till you hit a nerve. He reached up to the high shelf and lifted the shoe box down, then closed his eyes and stood for a moment in the dark. He grinned briefly at the melodrama of the action, then strode out of the cupboard and sat down on the couch. He set the whiskey on the coffee table and removed the lid of the box. 

It wasn’t at the top of the pile; those were more recent pictures of Angel, Cordelia, Gunn and Fred. Then there were the baby photos; Angel kept thinking up photograph-worthy firsts, which included Connor’s first time sucking his thumb, which according to Fred had been cute; his first burp, and that was a first which Wesley sincerely doubted; and his first giggle, which admittedly had been rather lovely. 

He reached below all of these to the bottom of the pile and found it under a picture of his graduation from Oxford. The photograph hadn’t aged well. In addition to being rather creased, the colour of the photograph had faded, so that the whole thing had taken on a rather surreal grey green tint, making everything and everyone look distinctly unnatural. Clearly, the developing process that had been employed in the early seventies hadn’t been expected to last thirty years.

He lifted the photo carefully, holding it by the edges, and placed it on the couch beside him. The memory was strong, even without the picture, but tonight he needed it. Just to convince himself that it had been real.

*~*~*~*

Wesley peered at the stone tablet, and tried to remember the details he’d studied the evening before. “They date to the Assyrian period, around 1000 BCE; probably Babylonian in origin.” 

Father nodded, but did not move from his position. “Their content?”

Wesley knew this; it was simply a memory test. “They provide a compilation of the astronomical knowledge of that period. They follow the astrolobe system closely, while making some substantial improvements.”

Father stepped away from the plaque that accompanied the cuneiform tablets, and Wesley breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his summation confirmed. 

“Well done, my boy.” Father’s voice was strangely jovial, and his hand came down on Wesley’s shoulder in a gesture of praise. 

Wesley remained quiet, leaning into the approving touch, and wondering for at least the tenth time that day if Father had taken leave of his senses. Wesley had been studying the Mesopotamian cuneiform script since school had broken up for summer hols; then yesterday Father had announced they would be going to the British Museum for some practical experience in translating. 

There had been very little translating. Mum had gone off to have tea at the Savoy, then Father had taken him down to the department of Early Egypt, and they had even got to look at the mummies. Father had told him tales of the Rosetta stone, and of the curses that protected the Pharaohs’ tombs. 

And then they had gone outside to meet Mum, and while they waited, Father had bought ice cream cones. They were just finishing them when Mum arrived and she had made them stand together as she brought out her camera. Father’s hand had settled lightly on his shoulder, and his usually stern face was lit with a warm smile. 

“You’ve been studying hard, Wesley.” 

“Yes, Father.” Wesley really didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s worth it. All the studying, all the hard work; you’ll find that in the end, it’s all worthwhile.” Father’s voice was soft, almost as if he was talking to himself.

“Yes, sir.” Wesley whispered, and felt Father’s hand squeeze his shoulder gently. 

“Good lad.”

 

*~*~*~*

Of course later he’d found out the reason for his father’s beneficence. He’d learned of the promotion that his father had received the previous day. And then very soon after that he’d learned of the position of active Watcher for which his father had been passed over. The Council had favoured another Watcher, one who lacked Roger Wyndam-Pryce’s dependants. His father's promotion within the Council bureaucracy was considered more fitting for a man with family ties.

Looking at the strangely discoloured photograph, Wesley made himself forget the uncomfortable postscript to that memory. For now he gazed upon a father and son, and saw pride and love and hope and all the things he’d ever wanted to see in his father’s face. 

Then he lifted the print almost reverentially and put it back in the box.


End file.
